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Textbook Ebook The Perfect Escape Suzanne Park 4 All Chapter PDF
Textbook Ebook The Perfect Escape Suzanne Park 4 All Chapter PDF
Happy reading!
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Acknowledgments
Back Cover
For my family.
(Mom and Dad, sorry about all the cussing.)
“Money trees is the perfect place for shade. And that’s just how I
feel, nah nah.”
—Kendrick Lamar, karaoked by Nate Kim in the shower
Chapter One
Nate
There were entrails hanging out where her belly button should’ve
been.
“I was starting to get a little claustrophobic.” The girl blinked
rapidly, adjusting her eyes to the flickering radiant lights. “I’m Kate,
the new ‘spooky seasonal feature’ they added last week.” She took
one quick look at my Feed Me (Braaaains)! T-shirt and tattered
jeans, then focused her gaze on my face.
My eyes and ears tuned into her every move, my whole body on
high alert. I was trapped in a room with a zombie girl. All the other
zombies I’d worked with were dudes. “I’m Nate.” I shrugged, trying
not to cringe at our cutesy rhyming names, not quite sure why I was
shrugging in the first place.
Everything on my body that could possibly sweat did. Instant oil
slicks involuntarily formed on my palms, feet, and face T-zone, and
there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.
Was it weird to think she was cute? She had shining brown eyes
and a button nose that crinkled adorably each time she looked at the
fluorescent lights. Well, as adorable as a zombified girl could be,
with all that makeup, straggly hair, and fake wounds. Why did she
take this “zombie girl in the closet” role? She could seriously star in
commercials or something like that.
This girl was way out of my league, though. Out of my dimension,
even. My heart pounded as my chest tightened, giving me the
sensation that my body was trying to choke my heart out of my
chest cavity. God, why was I so awkward around girls? And a zombie
girl, no less.
Not knowing what else to do next, I extended my clammy, sweat-
pooled hand, and we shook firmly, like we were coaches facing off in
a football game.
“Nice to meet you, Nate,” she said, then stretched her arms high
above her head. “That closet is way too small for someone my
height. And I’m only five foot three and a half.” After hopping around
on both feet, she added, “My feet are asleep!”
“So, you’re the new big finale, jumping out of the closet at the
end? You’re here from now through Halloween, and then what—are
you coming back for Thanksgiving and Hanukkah and Christmas?” I
was torn between being ecstatic about her new role and being
terrified, knowing she’d be hiding in the closet for fifty-nine minutes
of each session, maybe listening to me give my opening spiel. Even
with fifty-plus escape room games under my belt, my self-confidence
shrank by the second at the mere thought of being in future sessions
with this zombie girl.
“Yeah, I’m just a seasonal worker, not a year-rounder like you. Will
work for food. Or brains,” she said, giving a nod toward my shirt. A
boom of thunder rumbled and echoed through the building, taking
me by surprise. Thunderstorms were a rarity in Seattle, something to
do with the cool breeze on the Pacific Ocean. Something I didn’t
really pay much attention to in junior high science class, but maybe
should have.
“Hey, can you do me a favor?” she asked.
Gulping down my fear, I replied, “Depends. What do you need? If
you need a ride home or something, then maybe?” My mom’s 2002
Honda was a busted piece of crap and shimmied at fifty-five miles
per hour, its top speed, but it got the job done, driving from point A
to point B. But if Kate wanted to borrow money, she was shit out of
luck. All of my wages went toward my Xbox subscription, college
fund, and savings for a business I’d launch in a few years. I had
nothing to spare.
“I need you to tell me which black eye looks better.” She pointed
double-finger guns at her face. “Left eye…or the right one? I’m
trying to perfect my makeup artistry for work again tomorrow.”
Damn, she was working a shift tomorrow, and unfortunately I
wasn’t. My stomach twinged with disappointment. Or hunger. Maybe
both.
“I—I—I like the one on the left. It gives your eye a gaunt, hollow
look,” I said hesitantly as she raised an eyebrow at me.
She pulled a mirror from her purse and examined both eyes.
“Interesting. I kind of like the other one. It looks more realistic to
me. Like I’m not trying too hard to look dead, you know?”
What in the hell was she talking about? Both of her eyes were
“dead”-looking. I’d worked at this zombie escape room job for a
year. Read every zombie survival guide I could get my hands on.
Watched every zombie movie and every episode of The Walking
Dead more than once. I knew my zombie shit.
“Yeah, I agree,” I replied, and motioned for her to come with me to
the employee lockers in the break room.
“So, actually, could I get a lift home maybe?” she asked as we
opened our lockers. “I didn’t really think about how I’d look taking
public transportation. And you know, the rain could make it all
worse.” She removed her hat and smiled, revealing a fake missing
tooth and bloody gums. I had to admit, she took her zombie job
very seriously. Kate was convincingly, purposefully gross.
I grinned confidently while shutting my locker door, even though
my heart was pounding and my sweatiness all over my body
intensified. “Sure, my after-hours job is zombie rescue. I retrieve
zombies and put them back in their habitat.”
She pulled her peacoat from her locker and put it on over her
raggedy dress. “Great! There’s a Dick’s Hamburgers on the way to
my house. I need food. I’ll buy you dinner and a milkshake if you
want.”
When we got outside, rain assaulted us from every direction. We’d
already had ten days of straight rain, not unusual for October in
Seattle. And the seven-day forecast? Even more rain.
Kate studied the flyers on the corkboard next to the entrance while
I locked up. She stared hard at the neon-green Zombiegeddon
advertisement, examining every word. Zombiegeddon was a new
zombie-themed survival competition with a huge cash prize. It was
on the same day as my big-time cross-country meet a month away,
so I hadn’t bothered to look into it more.
When we finally got to my car, I swiped my accordion folder of
college financial aid applications off the front passenger seat and
tossed it in the back. I handed Kate a wad of clean tissues from my
pocket to mop up her runny makeup and also used some to wipe my
forehead’s fountain of sweat.
As I turned the key in the ignition, I wondered, If we are eating
hamburgers and it is her treat, does this count as a date?
Kate took a selfie just before wiping off her cheeks. “I look scarier
now than I did before. I might try this look tomorrow. Maybe I’ll
stick my head under the shower or something.”
Her boot thumped hard against something on the floorboard.
“Oops,” she said apologetically. “I hope I didn’t break anything.” She
bent down to look. “Wow, is this where you keep guns and ammo?”
I laughed. “That’s my dad’s trusty six-drawer toolbox. It’s older
than I am.” He always liked to consider himself handy around the
house, but Mom and I called him Mr. Fixer-Downer. “He refuses to
hire plumbers or handymen. He’s a do-it-yourselfer, to save money.
Watches YouTube videos and thinks he’s a pro.”
“Oh, that’s cool!” Kate sighed and glanced at the toolbox again.
“My dad’s not handy at all. He outsources everything.”
I wished we outsourced more. “Well, I didn’t say my dad was good
at it. He once spent three hours building a three-cube bookshelf.”
“In his defense, IKEA furniture is a pain in the ass to put together.
Don’t let those cute cartoon drawing instructions fool you,” she
teased.
“Yeah! How do they manage to have like forty types of different
screws with all sorts of head shapes in an impossible-to-open plastic
baggie for just one stool? I should be nicer to my dad.”
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel at a stoplight and
snuck a quick glance at her. “Too bad I don’t work tomorrow. Do you
work any other days too?” Saturday nights were when I played State
of Decay on Xbox Live with my buddies. There were three of us, and
we’d all played together since middle school. I was z0mbie_killir_1.
Spelling was never my forte.
Kate shook her head. “I’m only working Friday and Saturday
nights. It’s okay, though. That works out with school and other
stuff.”
“I usually work Monday-Wednesday-Friday.” It dawned on me that
the next time I’d see her was the next Friday. “It’s cool we’ll be able
to work together, at least for a few weeks.”
Kate shrugged. “I’m a temp zombie for now, but maybe if I do a
good job, the guys in charge will keep me around for the whole
year.”
“Yeah, think about all the holidays after Christmas! Valentine’s Day.
Saint Patrick’s Day. Easter. And who doesn’t love an Easter zombie?”
I waggled my eyebrows the best I could.
She smiled at me as she grabbed my phone from the center
console and typed her address into the maps app. “I live twenty
minutes away. Looks like there’s a little bit of traffic on the way
there. Sorry. But we can do our Dick’s pit stop, and maybe the roads
will clear up.” She leaned forward and peered at the radio. “Mind if I
turn it on?”
Heat flushed to my cheeks, starkly contrasting with my rain-pelted,
clammy skin. “This is my mom’s car. It’s super old, so there’s nothing
automatic on it. You might even have to turn the knob.” My ears
burned with embarrassment. “And her preset stations are NPR, easy
listening, and classical crap, so no judging. But yeah, fiddle with it if
you want.”
She punched one of my mom’s preset stations and “Jingle Bell
Rock” came on. Already? It was only October! I thought there were
rules against that shit.
“Yes! Holiday music!” she squealed. “Don’t you love Christmas
music?”
Ugghhh, noooo. Kill me now. “Yeah. It’s great.”
Mickey’s Christmas Carol was the only Christmasy thing I liked.
Scrooge McDuck was rich, focused, and no-nonsense. When asked
the question “Who would I have dinner with, real or fictional?” I
always answered Scrooge McDuck. I didn’t dare tell Kate all this,
though, given her affinity for the shittiest yuletide song in history.
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blue, with an occasional touch of red in the skirts. The girls wear
their jackets open down to the waist; but married women wear a kind
of felt apron suspended from just above the breast. This felt is made
of wool, which is beaten until it reaches the required thickness and
density and becomes a solid mass. The cloth of which the jacket is
made has a shiny surface like sateen, which also is produced by
beating. Some of them wear thick twisted coils of scarlet thread
wound twice round the head and fixed with a scarlet wooden comb.
I got my interpreter to make a list of the different Miao tribes living
in the part of the province we visited. He did this at the dictation of
one of their number. The various Miao-chia (chia means “family”) are
mainly named on account of differences of clothing, especially as
regards colour, but also sometimes by their occupation, as the
“Shrimps” (Sa Miao), so called because they sell fresh-water fish and
shrimps; the “Magpies,” called after the birds, because their dress is
black and white; and the “West of the Water Miao” (Hsen-hsi Miao)
because they live on the west of the river that we crossed between
Anshunfu and Ta-ting: they are said to number only six villages.
Page 130
The Miao people were invited many years ago by the missionaries
to learn to write their own language in romanized script, but they
refused, saying they preferred their children to learn to read and
write Chinese. It is obvious that this would be far better for them from
a practical point of view. A Miao who knows Chinese thus can make
a good living by translating Chinese contracts or official documents
for his neighbours.
The religion of all these tribes is mainly animistic, but the Lolos
have priests, though not temples. The priests have tents, divided into
two parts, of which one is holy and the other holier. Their sacrifices
have to be of flawless creatures, cows and fowls. Their creed might
be summed up as “I believe in evil spirits, necromancy, ancestor
worship and a future life.” By far the most potent factor in their
existence is terror of demons. All their existence is overshadowed by
fear. There are all kinds of horrible demons of various colours, green
and red and blue: some have dishevelled hair and some have hair
standing on end. To add to the horror, although they are like men in
appearance, they are invisible. They shoot arrows of disease and
send bad dreams to men.
My MS. gives
Dr. Henry’s
Chinese
This is just a sample of their ideas; now I will give a sample of their
habits. They have big carouses on the open mountain slopes. A man
desirous to enter into relationship with a girl will watch his
opportunity for seeing her alone, and give as a signal a wide
sweeping movement of the arm: if she acquiesces she will go to the
carouse. These do not take place at stated intervals, but a party of
young men will go off with girls in groups of twenty or thirty and sit
round a big fire, singing their amorous ditties. These are mostly of a
coarse nature not suited for publication, but Dr. Henry has translated
the following song by girls working in the fields addressed to boys:
Page 125
A Roadside Restaurant.
Page 140
The funeral rites, which take place in the fields, include the burning
of buffaloes’ horns, cows’ bones, etc., on a kind of altar.
Our stay among the tribes and all we heard about them led us to
believe that they are capable of becoming a valuable asset to the
empire, and the progress now being made in civilizing them is most
encouraging. Some have even been sent as elected members of the
first Parliament of the Chinese Republic. They have proved
themselves capable of taking literary degrees on the same footing as
the Chinese. One of the most powerful viceroys in Western China
was a Nosu. In S. Pollard’s book, In Unknown China, he mentioned
the interesting fact that he had obtained (through a friend) the
opinion of the brilliant Dr. Wu Ting Fang (formerly Chinese Minister
at Washington) as to the position of the tribes in the new five-
coloured flag. He places them in the red bar, which stands first of the
colours, reckoning them as Sons of Han, namely among the
Chinese.
Chapter VI
The Province of Hunan
—R. Browning.
Chapter VI
The Province of Hunan